


The Games We Play

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: BDSM, Dark, M/M, R/NC-17 - Red Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-08
Updated: 2008-04-08
Packaged: 2019-01-20 16:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Part Six of the Psycho!Samatic Cycle. Sam and Chris get to know each other a little better.





	The Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Sam / Chris. **MAJOR WARNINGS** here for explicit sex. Really. And disturbing images. *We* got squicked at this and we wrote it. Not for the squeamish. And I mean that. Many, many thanks to Cuvalwen for the hot sex. I mean the hot sex tips. I mean for pretty much writing the shower scene. Oh, and also for the semi-colons.

Walking up the path from the canal, Sam's brain tried desperately to wrap itself round just what was happening here. 

 

 

"I know a place," he had said, gesturing to Chris that he should follow him. Why had volunteered such, he still didn't know.

 

 

All the while, he tried very hard to clear his throat but found he couldn't. Much in the same way he couldn't ignore the fact his trousers were much, much too tight all of a sudden. Quite against his will, too. This was going completely pear-shaped.

 

 

"I thought all the knocking shops were out of business," Chris' eyes gave lie to the humorous tone he'd injected into his voice for delivery of this particular joke. Still, he walked amiably alongside Sam and a few steps back.

 

 

"Not _all_..." Sam managed, at last, with only a slightly strange pause beforehand. "This way," he waved in exasperation and pointed down to the next turning. "It's just up this way."

 

 

A few minutes later, they were in Sam's flat at last. He hadn't had time to tidy up since the last one, but then, the part of his brain that cared figured there wasn't much point in that now, anyway.

 

 

"Your base of operations at last, boss. I wondered what your setup was like," Chris was almost completely awestruck. 

 

 

Sam looked to see if Chris was having a lark. He didn't appear to be at all; in fact, he seemed completely enraptured. If he wasn't, he was doing an awfully convincing job of it; that much was certain.

 

 

"This is so much better than I ever could have hoped," Chris was clearly in love as he delicately fingered the tubing running from the spigot to the bucket and back up to the table Sam had rigged up with a slight slant backward to help run the bloods down where he wanted them. He'd specially made this table in his spare time; all that time spent in the DIY shop in his gap year had more than paid off, as he had more than sufficient skill and talent with planes and lathes of most varieties. He'd taken the concept of a butcher-block table one better; this one was a slight bit longer, and also had a nice little moat around the edge to catch all the blood and collect it before it could be wasted by spillage out onto the floor. Since he hadn't yet been able to upgrade his shop by moving location to some place with a drain in the floor, this seemed the next best solution. A small tilt of the table toward one end would cause gravity to do the pesky chore of ushering each precious droplet down exactly where Sam wanted. 

 

 

"Ingenius, really. Here I was, thinking you just wanted them _dead_." Chris spoke softly, almost lovingly.

 

 

"How did you know it was me?" Sam asked. His brain still wasn't fully present, but the part that was had to say _something_.

 

 

"My demons seem to look an awful lot like your demons," Chris spoke ever more softly as he padded very slow steps ever closer to Sam. 

 

 

"They can't possibly." Sam was disbelieving, but startled enough he stood rooted to the spot and didn't back away even a millimetre.

 

 

"Oh, but they do. You see, I've been watching you. I've been admiring your brain at work for some time," Chris breathed in Sam's right ear, then licked it slightly and ended with a small, sharp nibble at the lobe before backing away to gauge Sam's reaction.

 

 

Sam winced and smacked at his earlobe, rubbing it but saying nothing. His eyes, however, spoke volumes. Fear. Loathing. Arousal. Excitement. Sheer, abject terror.

 

 

At least he wasn't feeling blank any more. That was a bit of a relief. Deciding to go with it, he grabbed Chris' shoulders and plunged headlong into a continuation of the kiss from the alley.

 

 

" _En garde_ ," Chris whispered as he undid the zip on Sam's flares and slid them to the ground, pausing to admire Sam's rock-hard cock.

 

 

" _Touché_ ," Sam replied as he did the same to Chris.

 

 

"Clearly, you're thinking what I'm thinking," Chris smiled sardonically once more, which was beginning to look much less out of place than it had once done.

 

 

"Swordfight?" Sam quirked an eyebrow.

 

 

"Some strange ideas of foreplay you've got in Hyde, boss, but if needs must..." Chris smirked, shrugged, and grasped his own cock at its base, tensing it up so it turned a turgid purple and then clubbing Sam lightly with it.

 

 

Sam's brain froze; he really wasn't sure what to do next. It wasn't as though he hadn't done this before...but this time seemed a bit _different_. For once, it seemed he might have something in common with his intended partner. Still, he stood even more rigidly than his cock as Chris moved to undress him.

 

 

"Are you having doubts?" Chris asked, concerned. Or feigning it very well.

 

 

Sam, for once, couldn't think of anything to say. He was usually so good at the expert comeback, too; especially as far as Gene was concerned. Only he hadn't exactly developed _this_ sort of relationship with Gene. He tried to remember how to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, slowly...

 

 

"Here, allow me," Sam said. He wasn't at all sure of himself, which was strange. So he tried to trick himself into it by feigning normalcy. Buttons undone? Check. Chris' shirt flung haphazardly into the air in no particular direction, as though he couldn't wait to get it off him? Check. Socks removed? Check. He couldn't stand it when people left their socks on during sex. It really ruined the whole thing.

 

 

As he methodically undressed Chris, he tried to look as inviting and relaxed as possible as Chris began to do the same to him, only with considerably more gusto. Or perhaps better acting. Sam never would have thought to question Chris' motives before, but after what seemed to be happening here, _everything_ raised new questions. Questions which suddenly didn't bear thinking about as Chris lazily swirled his tongue around Sam's left nipple, nibbling the nub and grazing it lightly with his teeth.

 

 

"We're on the same page then, yeah?" Chris paused for a moment, looking up for approval. 

 

 

Sam finally got with the program as they stood opposite each other, naked. He nodded. This was normal. This was sex. This was something he could do. 

 

 

He reached out, running his hands up and down Chris' arms. Chris stood there relaxed, head tilted to one side with an expression of faint amusement on his face. 

 

 

Sam ran his hands back up, ghosting over his thin shoulders and settling under his jaw. He moved even closer, capturing Chris' lips in a tentative kiss. 

 

 

Chris finally moved, bringing his hands up to cradle Sam's head and deepening the kiss, moving in tight so they were flush against each other. 

 

 

Sam moaned as their cocks finally touched, sucking on Chris' lower lip and rubbing his thumbs over the pulse points in his neck. 

 

 

Chris snaked a hand between them, gently grasping Sam's cock and swiping a calloused thumb over the tip, causing the other to jerk and groan loudly into the kiss, which was rapidly becoming less of a kiss and more a duelling of tongues. 

 

 

Sam's hips started to move of their own volition, trying to set a pace that was anything but the tortuously slow rhythm that the younger man was tormenting him with. Chris abandoned Sam's mouth to lick and nibble along his jaw, his neck, his earlobe. He whispered in Sam's ear, "So, enquiring minds want to know, what _do_ you do with the blood?" He moved his head back slightly, a questioning look in his eyes, not relinquishing his grasp or his tantalisingly slow pace. 

 

 

Sam swallowed. This was personal, private. Not something he wanted to discuss with _anyone_. But he couldn't think. Almost on autopilot he began to answer. "I, er, um, I've tried my hand at confectionery. Boiled sweets, lollipops. They turned out quite nice." A part of Sam's brain quirked a metaphorical eyebrow at the response, but his speech centre seemed to be hot-wired to his cock. "I made a mean cocktail as well."

 

 

Chris grinned. "Ah, a real Bloody Mary, eh?"

 

 

Sam grinned back, relieved that the revelation hadn't been spurned. "Yeah, you have to go easy on the Worcestershire sauce though. You lose all the flavour otherwise."

 

 

Chris ran his left hand over Sam's chest, ghosting over his nipples. "That's interesting, I'll have to remember that." He gradually started to quicken his pace, at the same time moving forward and backing Sam into the table behind him. 

 

 

Sam moved his hand to join Chris', their fingers brushing each other's as they both held on tight, jerking and twisting their hands. Their breathing became ragged, sounding harsh and loud in the still night. Chris leaned down to kiss Sam's collarbone, licking, nipping and finally biting down hard. Sam tangled his hand into Chris' hair, eyes wide and unfocussed as he lost himself in the myriad sensations assaulting him. 

 

 

It was a second, a minute, an eternity before Chris pulled back. Sam let go of his hair, his hand trailing down the angles of Chris' face, following the faint pulse of his carotid artery, his fingers resting momentarily in the hollow at the base of his neck. Chris' skin felt smooth, warm, real. He needed to taste, to feel it under his lips and tongue. He snaked his hand back round, grasping the back of the other's neck and moving his face closer... 

 

 

Chris brought him up short with a fierce twist of his wrist. Sam cried out and opened his eyes wide, focussing on Chris' face. He looked almost savage, his eyes glittering in the light. His lips curled in a grin, part warning, part triumphant as Sam desperately tried not to moan too loudly and failed. Sam relaxed slightly, his head falling back, eyelids fluttering as his breathing became shorter, his chest heaving, his blood thundering in his ears. They both redoubled their efforts, skin against skin, the friction almost unbearable. 

 

 

Chris' eyes closed, squeezed shut, the only visible sign as he finally came silently; hot sticky fluid between them. The sensation was enough to send Sam over the edge, his hips jerking wildly, the sting of his arse digging into the edge of the table only serving to heighten the climax. 

 

 

Sam drew a shuddering breath, opening his eyes to find Chris staring at him, his expression unreadable. Then the moment passed. Chris smiled, slowly, bringing his hand up to Sam's face, caressing his cheek with his thumb. 

 

 

Sam smiled, unable to quite erase the look of relief. Catching his breath he said, "Shower?"

* * * * *

Sam was proud of his shower which was rigged up at one end of the bath. It was boarded on three sides, tiled and well-sealed. While his flat only afforded him the luxury of a minimum of hot water, Sam didn't mind too much. Cold showers could be useful sometimes.

 

 

He started by running the water as hot as it would go, the heat making both of them flush, and set to work soaping Chris' back with the bar from the dish. What Sam wouldn't give for a decent bottle of shower gel, at times, he reflected ruefully. 

 

 

He continued across Chris' chest, and down his legs, spending more time than strictly necessary on his genitals. When Sam finally stood back up in the small space, Chris was breathing hard. 

 

 

Sam held out the soap and with a smile Chris took it, reciprocating each action with a deliberate thoroughness. 

 

 

While Chris was thus occupied, Sam reached up and gently knocked a discreet tap on the side of the showerhead. 

 

 

The shower began to run cold. Chris, finally noticing, backed quickly out the stream of water, dropping the soap. "What the…"

 

 

Sam pulled him back, grasping him round the waist. "You'll get used to it."

 

 

"You've run out of hot water?"

 

 

"Not exactly. It's a surprise."

 

 

Sam watched as Chris stared, confused, for a moment. Then Chris' eyes narrowed, noticing the change in the water. It was rapidly becoming pink. His expression cleared as he realised that the colour was deepening, the hue becoming more opaque, thicker, redder. Chris laughed. "Oh, that is _ingenious_!" He pulled Sam close, kissing him deeply as the mixture flowed between them. "How on earth did you rig that up?"

 

 

Sam shrugged, casually wiping the liquid out of his eyes. "Plastic tubing from the home-brew shop. A lot of jerry-rigging with jubilee clips, an entire weekend spent drilling and filing down fittings. It took a few attempts to set up the vacuum siphon correctly, but it works perfectly now."

 

 

"How on earth do you stop it from solidifying?"

 

 

"Sodium citrate, mostly. Obviously you can't run it too warm, it clogs up the shower-head if you do. I'm getting very used to cold showers." Sam reached up to Chris' face, wiping a stream of red across his cheek. "It's good for the skin you know. Keeps me looking as young as I do."

 

 

Chris grinned, wildly, looking positively primeval with the red liquid thickly painting his face and body. "Let's see if we can warm this up a little."He pulled Sam in close, grasping his arse with both hands and kissing him forcefully. He drew back, staring into Sam's eyes. "I'm going to fuck you." 

 

 

Sam's breath hitched in his throat and he nodded. "There's vaseline in the cabinet behind you." 

 

 

One half of Chris' mouth curled up in a sardonic smirk. "Right you are. _Boss_." He turned away, fumbling slightly in the cabinet as he found the small jar tucked away in the back. 

 

 

Facing Sam again, his eyes narrowed. "Turn around," he growled. 

 

 

The tone of voice sent shivers down Sam's spine. Suddenly nervous but unable to refuse, he complied; bracing his arms against the tiling. For a few moments there was nothing and then felt a hand trace down the cleft of his buttocks. Sam jumped slightly, involuntarily, then tried to relax as a finger, slick despite the ongoing rain of blood and water, found its way to the tight ring of muscle. At first it remained there just caressing the entrance. Then slowly, almost gently, but insistently it was pushed inside. The shock of penetration caused Sam to gasp and instinctively try to jerk away, but Chris' hand caught his shoulder, pulling him back. His hot breath caressed Sam's neck as he whispered "Don't move." 

 

 

Unable to speak, Sam nodded. 

 

 

Chris moved his hand, at first stroking his shoulder-blade and then, as he moved down the spine, curled his first and second fingers under so that the nails scraped along the skin leaving two parallel red lines, stark against the pale flesh, as livid as the blood that still rained down. Then again, sideways, crossing the original two. "Still my move," he purred. 

 

 

Chris withdrew his finger slightly, then pressed in again. Two fingers this time. Sam moaned, desperately, willing himself to relax as he felt then move, scissoring, stretching him. "Oh god." he gasped, his voice rough, desperate. Then "Please..."

 

 

"Hmm?" Chris enquired, casually.

 

 

"Please..."

 

 

"What? Should I... stop?"

 

 

"No!"

 

 

"Then what?"

 

 

"Please, please..." a litany now.

 

 

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

 

 

"Yes... oh God."

 

 

"Then ask."

 

 

Sam closed his eyes, tried to collect his thoughts which were scattered to the four winds. He tried to speak, but at first he couldn't form the words. Finally: "Please. Fuck me."

 

 

He could hear the grin in Chris' voice. "You're the boss."

 

 

The fingers withdrew. Sam whimpered at the feeling of emptiness which was, however, short lived; to be replaced by a newer sensation. The tip of Chris' cock was pressed against him, demanding entrance. The pressure increased as Chris gripped Sam's buttocks, separating them. Suddenly the resistance gave way and Chris pushed further inside. Sam cried out. He couldn't help it, but there was still more to come. Chris withdrew slightly and thrust forward again. There was pain, but Sam embraced it, wrapped as it was in such sensations...

 

 

Another withdrawal, another thrust. Now Sam could feel the length of Chris' body against him. A voice in his ear, murmuring "I'm balls deep in you now."

 

 

Beyond words, Sam groaned; pushing back further on to the younger man.

 

 

One hand on Sam's hip, the other on his shoulder bracing himself Chris now began in earnest withdrawing almost to the tip again and then plunging back in hard, unforgiving. Again and again and still more as Sam was pushed forward by the force of each thrust. Sam scrabbled at the tiled wall, leaving red streaks down it as he desperately tried to keep his balance.

 

 

He was now pressed up against the wall, head turned slightly. Chris' thrusts seemed to reach deeper each time, no longer withdrawing so much, just pushing further in and in and in. A hand snaked round his front, pulling him back on to each thrust. Splayed, Chris' fingers dug deep into the stomach muscle.

 

 

His mouth open, gasping, groaning, Sam could taste the metallic tinge of the blood in the water. The taste, the smell filled his senses. His erection rock hard between his stomach and the blood-slick tiles. The pounding of the shower on his back. He felt enveloped in it, drowning in it. The blood of the girls, once a curse, now was a baptism. He felt washed away by his own sins.

 

 

Skin on skin, skin on tile, the taste, the smell. Sam came, hard, biting his own arm to stop from screaming and the pain only added more as all his body spasmed, spurting white to mix with the red. Through the almost deafening drumming of his own heart he heard Chris chuckle.

 

 

Now Chris came, the arm around Sam's waist tightening, holding him up as he felt the younger man's body jerk against him in a last few insistent thrusts.

 

 

The eternal rhythm now slowed and stopped and Chris withdrew, releasing his hold on Sam who slumped to his knees, unable to stand any more. Fighting to regain control of his breathing, Sam turned and sat sprawled in the bath, staring up at Chris who gazed back, impassive, as the water paled to rose pink and then cleared, washing away the past. 

 

 

_fin_


End file.
